A Cold Reception
by likingthistoomuch
Summary: He had seen her in the lab that noon, but she had seemed fine. The onset of cold seemed sudden.
1. Chapter 1

Peace! Peace and quiet and solitude. That, along with an unlimited supply of coffee. Good coffee. He was surprised that Molly preferred and stocked up on Colombian. Guess there were a few things he _did_ miss out about the petite pathologist.

He tried to be quiet about it, but the door always creaked just as it opened enough to let him in. The flat was quiet, so he knew Molly would be asleep. He removed his coat, hung up his scarf and sauntered in like he owned the place but stopped short.

Molly was asleep, but on the sofa. There was a heap of discarded tissue paper lying on the floor near her head. On closer observation he saw that she had a slight red nose and was breathing with her mouth, lips parted. An empty soup bowl lay on the table next to her sofa.

He had seen her in the lab that noon, but she had seemed fine. The onset of cold seemed sudden.

Molly, at that instant, tried to turn in her sleep, but ended up snuggling against the sofa backrest, her blanket pulled even closer.

Leaving her trying to get comfortable on the sofa, he entered her bedroom, removed his shoes and socks, shrugged out of his jacket and lay on her bed. The solitude and quiet that her flat offered was exactly the salve needed for his frayed nerves. Dealing with his brother did that to him. Six straight hours of discussion and Sherlock was ready to fly to Japan, if it meant getting away from Mycroft.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, he heard another muffled cough and sniffling. Choosing to ignore the sick woman outside, he got up, took his spare set of clothes from "his" allocated drawer, changed and flopped back on her bed, looking forward to a good night's rest.

A sneezing fit from the hall disturbed him again. Concerned that he was actually bothered about the sofa's occupant and having his peace disturbed, he got up with a huff and padded out to into the hall.

Looking down, he could barely see Molly underneath the blanket. The sofa was no place for a sick woman and it wouldn't help for her condition to worsen, as he was planning to camp at her place for atleast two days.

Without pausing to think further, he tucked his hands under the sleeping woman and picked her up, blankets and all. Molly, as expected, woke up with a start and would have almost fallen down, had Sherlock not rushed to her bedroom.

Dumping her on her bed, he announced, "Do get better quickly. I will take the guest bedroom tonight but that excuse of a mattress is a pain. I can't sleep there more than a night."

Saying this, he tried to grab her pillow, but Molly was surprisingly quick and held on to it. "This is _my _pillow Sherlock and I will _not_ spare it tonight."

"Oh c'mon, the spare pillow is harder than rocks…and the pillow case is not high count cotton as yours!"

He tried to grab her pillow from under her head, but Molly dug her head in and let out a big coughing fit into it. Sherlock couldn't move back faster.

"That was playing dirty Molly!"

"Yeah, bite me. Get your own pillow if you don't like the spare one. I cant breath through my nose; my head feels like it weighs a ton and now you woke me from my sleep. Why can't you arrive earlier, before my bedtime! Do you _have _to wake me up" Molly croaked.

"Its not my fault you have a weak resistance to bugs!"

"Yes, disturbed sleep leads to weakening of resistance powers. And God help you Sherlock, if you disturb me again or whine on again about hard pillows or low thread counts or hard mattresses, I will personally contact Mycroft and ask him to escort you out of my flat! Do not themp mh….achoooo!"

Sherlock wasn't sure which threat worked better: the flu bugs floating in Molly's room now or the fact that Mycroft would be more than happy to appease the pathologist.

He was out of the room in a beat, grumbling away to the guest room and promising that he would ensure that Molly got the best medical help to get her on her feet the next day.

A healthy Molly was much more willing to pander to his whims, he wasn't too comfortable with this sick version. Molly stood up to him more nowadays, but she had never kicked him out, ever, he pouted.

Also, he didn't want a repeat of him picking her from the sofa. He had ignored the sensations in his rush to get her to the bed before she fell on the floor, but it had felt good to hold her in his arms.

Surprised at his own admission, Sherlock decided that he was just too drained and would not spend more than few hours with Mycroft. If six hours made him like holding Molly in his arms, God alone knew what effect more time with his brother might have!


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock woke up to the loveliest smell in the whole world, the smell of freshly brewed Colombian coffee. Feeling well rested after many days, he was actually looking forward to visiting Barts and checking out a few of his experiments. Maybe he would also meet up with a few members of his homeless network. Always in good stead to be in touch with his eyes and ears on the streets.

When he walked out of the spare room, he was surprised to see the site in front of his eyes. Molly, covered in her blanket but looking a bit better, was sitting at the kitchen table along with a blond man Sherlock had never seen before. The man was reading the newspaper whereas Molly was fiddling with her mobile phone. The scene looked so domestic that for a moment Sherlock thought he was in the wrong house.

"Guess you had no problems with the hard pillow last night Sherlock. You seem all well rested." Molly commented without looking up.

"Where's my coffee?"

"Oh, you would have to brew it yourself. I made Phil a cup along with mine."

"And why is Phil in your house at 9am, when clearly he should be at…the book store?"

"See!" Molly smiled triumphantly at Phil. "I told you he would deduce it, no need for introductions. Now give me that tenner. Oh, this isn't too bad a start to a day."

Phil smilingly complied, handed over the ten pound note, nodded at Sherlock and resumed reading his paper. Sherlock waited for Molly to do some introductions, offer him some breakfast or to make the coffee, but she resumed fiddling with her phone. Noting that the coffee wasn't going to brew itself, he set about it.

"Wouldn't mind some eggs, Molly, if you haven't gorged on all of them already. And please avoid using oil as if it's going out of fashion, I need my arteries to work optimally."

Sighing resignedly, Molly made to get up but was stopped by…..Finn? "I'll get it. You stay put and rest. That's the only way to kill this beast, rest and loads of fluids." Finn offered graciously.

"Yes, but thanks for the offer, you have been too kind already. I am not used to being pampered so its better that I move. Besides, as Sherlock very kindly pointed out, you have to go open the store."

Frank tried arguing but was stopped by Molly, who then accompanied him to the door. He gave her a hug, nodded at Sherlock and went away.

"Didn't know you had admirers who made breakfast for you, Molly. What would Tom think! The scandal!"

"Oh shut it Sherlock. He is my neighbor and friends tend to help each other out. Not all of us are lucky to have a landlady who dotes on us. We have to watch each other's back."

"Bah! friend indeed. And where is Tom anyways? Isn't your fiancé supposed to do this…care taking?"

"He is travelling; else he would definitely be here. He takes good care of me, so don't even start!" When he opened his mouth to fire a derogatory shot, she stopped him by raising her brow. She was doing this more frequently nowadays, able to shut him up without using a single word. How, he wondered.

"Anyways, unlike somebody, we have normal jobs to report to. I am going for a shower, try not to destroy my flat in the interim."

"Are you going to work today? I assumed you would take a day off. Anyways, what about my eggs?"

Mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like asking him to stuff the eggs in unmentionable part of his anatomy, Molly set about to prepare his breakfast, sniffling and coughing between. Sherlock meanwhile resolutely poured his coffee and then as an afterthought, poured some for Molly too.

Putting his plate of food in front of him, Molly grabbed her cup and strode towards her bedroom, blanket still wrapped around her. The moment the bedroom door shut, her phone display lit; it was an incoming call; Tom. Before the phone could ring, Sherlock muted it and the call went to voice mail. He was a bit surprised by his reaction, but decided he hadn't wanted to disturb Molly as the hot shower steam would do wonders for clogged sinuses. Of course, that was the reason.

Finishing his food, Sherlock strode to the guest room, deciding to order for couple of pillows from Harrods. If he was going to spend some time here, might as well get comfortable. As an afterthought, he also ordered a couple of very high thread count Egyptian cotton bedsheets. The luxurious type that Molly would be too embarrassed to use in Sherlock's absence, and specially, in Tom's presence.

It didn't help that by the time Molly left for Barts and Harrods made the delivery, Sherlock himself was feeling slightly under the weather, what with a runny nose and slight headache. Expecting the impending arrival of the flu, Sherlock had grumblingly moved back to Baker Street. It was a practical choice, as Mrs Hudson would fawn over him like a mother hen but he would be left alone most of the time. Also the constant supply of coffee and food wouldn't hurt.

With antibiotics down his throat, followed by the hot soup Mrs Hudson made, Sherlock was almost content. But he felt a pang of remorse, when he thought of a tired Molly returning to her empty flat, with no one to take care of her. He thought of having hot food delivered to her flat, but then stopped. That was not his job.

Where was her fiancé when he was most needed! And why the hell was he so bothered!


	3. Chapter 3

Anger is an emotion that conveys a lot and at the same time, hides even more. Anger hides pain, joy, sorrow; anger helps some people to tide over things they cannot help. Like loving Sherlock. Like being in love with him.

Molly had adopted a defeated attitude for two days after the day solving cases with him. She knew she was in deep trouble. She was sad about the state of her life. About the fact that she suddenly could not see the qualities that made her accept Tom's proposal. All she could see was Sherlock. And after a day bingeing on wine and then a day spent getting over a hangover from hell, she was angry. Angry that one man had so much control over her heart, and he didn't even want to do anything with her!

Anger helped her deal with her feelings. It helped her see Tom with some of the rose tinted glasses. Helped her breathe and get over the best man and bridesmaid bantering easily at John's wedding. Helped her ignore a lonely, lost man leaving a crowded reception.

But it came to the fore with a force when the said man with a history of addiction took drugs. She saw manipulation and carelessness and stupidity and just let go. The three resounding slaps were also a reminder for her to move on. She wasn't sure whom she hurt more in the lab that day.

Also Tom was no more in her life, she was lonely again and she was looking for some way to vent all the frustration that came with identifying the real cause for her single status.

And then he got himself shot. And escaped the hospital, only to get admitted back in almost as serious a condition as the first time. Molly went mad with worry and then got mad at herself for still caring so much.

She visited him in the hospital a few times, trying to find some sympathy for Sherlock or even have a kind reaction. But all she felt was a fuming anger, which threatened to boil over. So the visits were perfunctory and short.

He was released and was taken by his parents – forced would be a better word – to convalesce in their home in Cotswold. He returned to London after a few weeks, but didn't visit Barts and she was informed by Greg that things were indeed slow at Baker Street.

Which didn't feel right.

And she was proved correct when Sherlock went off the radar post Christmas. He had at the most responded to her texts. Now nothing.

Her gut said he was in trouble. And that was confirmed when Jim's face was plastered over all the electronic media.

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. How did Jim survive shooting his own brains was the question on her mind. She was moved to a safe house, was provided covert security when she moved around and basically, was under as secure a protection as could be provided. She felt smothered. And the anger came forth again.

She knew games were being played at a level that she couldn't fathom. Games played by players she didn't know, played as per rules she didn't understand but she knew she was one of the pawns. Insignificant, yet a pawn. In a game she didn't want to play.

So anger helped.

And then it was over. The Moriarty twin was vanquished. She was free. She had her life back. She could do what she wanted to without having to look over her shoulder.

And it all felt very empty. As if a load was taken off her back and she missed it. As if that load had tethered her like gravity.

She moved back to her flat, resumed her duties at Barts and life begin as if she had just woken up from a bad dream.

Until the evening that she came home from work to find Sherlock waiting for her, drinking her favourite Colombian brew. The normalcy of the sight made her question her own sanity. She hadn't seen him for almost a month now; last seen he had been in a rush to confirm some deductions about Moriarty twin. It was the day the evil genius had died.

"The crowd at Baker Street finally got to you?"

"I do have an excellent pillow, mattress and bedsheets awaiting me here…I know the Harrod's delivery was a bit late in the day. And the coffee! I am extremely surprised at your excellent choice Molly. I can order takeaway. So, bed, coffee and food. And with you working the hours you do, I have the flat to myself most of the time. All in all, a perfect bolt hole."

Molly suddenly felt all the anger come bursting out. She yelled at him, "Get out. Now."

Sherlock just cocked his head and took another sip from his mug.

Taking a deep breath, she tried again, a bit more calmly. "Now, Sherlock. Leave now."

"Oh, you seem angry. Would "sorry" work?" he asked with a sardonic smile on his face.

She was tempted to throw something at him. But seeing that she only could access a small throw cushion, Molly took a deep breath and turned to go towards her bedroom.

She felt his hand grab her arm and turn her around. Sherlock pushed her against the wall next to her bedroom door and stared at her stunned face.

"Anger. So much anger. And it's all bottled deep inside. This cool façade, always this cool façade. What does Molly Hooper really think, what does she _really_ want to do? Does she want to push me away, slap me again…or do this?"

The next thing she knew, Sherlock was kissing her. Her surprised gasp gave him the chance to deepen the kiss.

The anger came boiling up. She pushed him away, slapping him again. They both stood staring at each other, breathing fast. He moved towards her, but she backed away till she hit the wall.

"No more manipulation Sherlock. No more using me, my feelings for your own selfish reasons. Please, just stop this. Stop this right now!"

She was almost shouting by the end. Sherlock just stood there looking at her. He came near her, raising his hand and cupping her cheek. She flinched at his touch.

He just gave a sad smile at her reaction.

"I agree Molly. No more manipulation. No more hiding what I truly feel for you. No more letting you get away from me. All this stops right now."

She just stared at his face, not comprehending what he had said. Or not believing it.

"You are lying. I know you are. But you don't need to." She whispered.

"I am sick and tired of lying and ignoring and running away from the one constant feeling I have had for years now. Even before the fall." He looked tired, _so_ tired.

"I love you, Molly Hooper. And I have for such a long time. I always hid it, to protect you. I know it was for the best. But this case…I realized that it can get over in a moment. And you would _never_ know. I just want you to know that you are loved…so much!"

The tender look on his face had a vulnerability that she had never seen before. And there was nervousness. That convinced her that maybe, he was telling the truth.

"Are you serious?" she asked softly.

"As Moriarty!"

That invoked a giggle from her, inspite of her previous anger and disbelief. Sherlock grinned. His grin faded but was replaced by a tender look she had never seen before. When he kissed her this time, it was sweet and loving and oh so gentle.

She hid her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. "I love you Sherlock Holmes. And I am so pissed at you! But by God, I love you so much!"

"So do I, Molly Hooper, you are my beacon in the dark. I am pulled towards you and want to be with you always. And I will prove that to you as long as I live."


	4. Chapter 4

In her deepest dreams, that she kept locked away and hidden under various reasons and reality, Molly always imagined her first kiss with Sherlock would be hungry, desperate, followed by passionate lovemaking, with him admitting his foolishness in hiding his feelings and making promises of undying love.

Instead, as they stood near her bedroom with their foreheads touching, after Sherlock's proclamation of love, Molly, suddenly nervous, had blurted out, "Hungry?"

Sherlock moved back, his hands still around her, a slight frown on his face which slowly melted into that all knowing smirk that she loved and hated. "Now that you mention it, I am starving." Taking a step back, with a twinkle in his eye, he added, "And I am assuming you meant… for food."

She turned red as a beetroot, nodding her head quickly. "Well, I had planned to cook and so have already made prep. I'll whip something in no time. Maybe some pasta or some paella or something. Let me just check."

Sherlock just grinned at her ramblings and let her pass to the kitchen.

The last five minutes had been something Molly had dreamt of a million times. And now that the dream seemed to come true, she felt a bit lost.

This was Sherlock after all. And he wasn't exactly shy about his intimacy issues.

What had just happened? Were they now a couple? Would it be ok to kiss him, or hug him? Could she hold his hands? And what about in front of their friends?  
>Was he even telling the truth? Could she trust him or was this just another game?<p>

She was filled with questions and had no clue how to address them and was panicking a little.

She forced herself to calm down as she made dinner and they ate it at the kitchen table in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but she would've definitely preferred some conversation. Instead Sherlock seemed busy with his phone, sending out texts by the dozen.

As she cleared the dinner table, she started feeling even more nervous.

Was he going to stay over? If yes, what about their sleeping arrangements? Would they share a bed? Or would he prefer her to use the guest room while he worked, as he obviously seemed to be in the middle of something by the amount of texts he was getting.

As she dithered after clearing away the plates and storing the leftovers in the fridge, Sherlock came and stood near the kitchen door.

"Are you planning to stay here the whole night?"

Startled by his voice, she almost dropped the mug she was drying.

"Err…just clearing things up. Done now…do you want some coffee?"

"No. I haven't slept at all the last three nights and I can barely stand on my feet right now. The case is over but dealing with Mycroft's minions for paperwork can be even more exhausting. I am going to bed. Good night."

Saying this, he turned and went into her bedroom, shutting the door behind, the resounding click of the lock echoing throughout the quiet flat.

She simply stood staring at her closed bedroom door for a long time, then shook her head and finished cleaning up.

Realizing that she was also very tired, she headed to the guest bedroom. Grabbing her spare set of pajamas kept for when she was locked out of her own room, Molly headed for the common bathroom.

As she lay in bed after her shower, Molly wondered if the incident outside her bedroom ever took place or was a figment of her imagination. Maybe she had wanted Sherlock to kiss her for so long, that her tired, over worked brain had imagined the entire episode.

That could explain Sherlock's cool behavior or rather his normal behavior.

Musing over this, Molly slowly drifted and finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

As her phone alarm went off the next morning and she tried to find the blaring instrument with her eyes shut, Molly's hand touched something soft on the bed. Out of habit, she petted the soft head, hit snooze on her phone and promptly snuggled in again. Her eyes snapped open the very next moment. Toby didn't make deep throated, almost purring sounds when she petted him.

Turning her head slowly, she found herself staring at the back of Sherlock's head. He was sleeping on his stomach, both hands folded under his pillow and facing the other way.

Sherlock! Sleeping! Next to her…how did that happen?

The events of the previous evening came to her in a rush and she almost fell down, trying to get off her bed backwards. Catching herself just in time, she grabbed her phone before it went off again and rushed outside the room.

To say she was disoriented would be an understatement. Stupefied was a better word.

Shaking her head, she saw the opportunity access her empty bathroom and decided to take a shower. The hot water might just help her clear her head.

Feeling a bit more grounded and ready to face the world once she had freshened up, Molly went to the kitchen to see about breakfast. Putting some coffee on, she turned around and almost jumped when she saw a sleepy Sherlock sitting at the table, working on his phone again. He looked rested, the worn out look of last evening replaced by a sharper gaze.

"Morning! Didn't hear you come in." She greeted her voice a pitch higher than normal.

"Hmmm."

She had never seen Sherlock just out of bed. The times that he had stayed over, he used to come out of her bedroom showered and all dressed up.

This pajama clad, tousled haired, slightly grouchy, still sleepy version made him look more human than ever and also way more adorable. All he needed was to scratch his head and yawn and he would be like join the early morning version of the rest of humanity.

This made her giggle, which in turn made Sherlock look up sharply from his phone.

"Some coffee, Molly, before you indulge in your inane jokes." Ah, there he was. The Sherlock she knew and hated herself for loving…

Wait! Hadn't he confessed that he loved her too? Just last evening? And had then kissed her? Granted, the events that followed weren't any different from any normal evening Sherlock spent at her flat, but still.

"Why were you sleeping in the guest room last night?" Molly blurted out before she could change her mind.

"Wasn't that the expected thing? After all I have ordered new stuff for that room."

"But you had retired for the night in my bedroom…"

"I was only taking a shower and changing. Can't a man expect some privacy while doing so?" He sounded a bit irritated.

"No…I mean, yes, of course."

"The coffee is ready Molly, can I have some before the next round of questions start? You are not normally this talkative in the mornings. Would prefer if you revert back to the earlier version."

Molly threw him a dirty look but it was lost on him as his attention was on his phone again. Placing the mug in front of him with a little more force than required, she grabbed her own coffee and went to sit on the sofa. She just about finished half her mug, but couldn't control herself any longer.

Stomping back to the kitchen, to a still-busy-with-his-phone Sherlock, she took a deep breath and asked. "What you said last evening, what you told me last evening, is any of it true?"

"Hmm?" He barely acknowledged her.

"Sherlock! Was there any truth in what you told me last evening?" Her voice raised now.

Sherlock finally looked up at her, a frown on his face. "Are you going to cross examine me now?"

"Just answer the damn question!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. She could see that he was a bit put off at this display but she had to know. Right now.

Had it been a true confession, or was it simply a new method to get to spend the night at her flat.

"I don't like to repeat what I said. If you choose to believe me, fine. If no, I can't help you. But would really appreciate it if you don't yell at me Molly."

Saying this, he got up and went to her room, banging the door shut.

She stood in the kitchen, stunned!

What did she expect? Continuous proclamations of love? Displays of affection? Good morning kisses?

This was Sherlock, after all.

Shaking herself, she refused to fall into her natural, empathic mode. She had done that enough, had spent the last seven years putting up with his shit.

Glad that she was dressed, she grabbed her phone and her purse and left her flat fuming at the arrogant arse. She decided to carry on her scheduled tasks. Since it was her day off, it was shopping day.

But instead of heading to the nearest Tesco, she decided to head to the park nearby. Sitting on a bench, watching kids play and people walk about, she cooled a bit and got thinking.

Sherlock had never been in a relationship as far as she knew. Maybe he just didn't know how to adjust to the changed equation between them. Maybe that's why he had never confessed before.

Then she remembered the details of their "conversation". He had said something to the tune of – this case made him realize how it all can end in a moment. What did he mean by that? Was he referring to the Moriarty twin? Or something else? But then Sherlock was always risking his neck. Why the sudden realization? It somehow didn't feel like the Moriarty case, Sherlock had been all pumped up and almost excited to deal with that. If not the Moriarty case, then what?

Molly pondered a bit, then decided her thoughts were running away in all directions. Too much time spent around Sherlock, she guessed. She got up and went about finishing her shopping, before heading home around lunch time.

She had half expected Sherlock to have left in a huff, but was surprised to see him in his dress shirt, working on her laptop in the living room. He didn't bother to look up when she entered and just nodded to her "Hello".

Too used to this behavior, Molly went to the kitchen to put away the shopping. She put on some coffee and sat with a mug at her kitchen table. She was surprised to see Sherlock join her a few minutes later.

He seemed nervous, like he wasn't sure how to approach a topic.

Taking pity on him and deciding to make things easier, she started talking. "I am sorry for yelling at you this morning. I just wanted to know…" she ended meekly.

She almost jumped when she felt his hand on hers, gripping it softly.

He began nervously. "I…I am not sure how to go about this. What I said yesterday, it was all true. I…I do have feelings for you, that go beyond platonic. I have for a long time now. I know it's tough for you to trust me. I have been a cruel, manipulative bastard. But there was no manipulation last night…trust me."

Turning her hand so that she could entwine their fingers, Molly just nodded. Still refusing to look at him she spoke, "Its not easy for me too. There were so many mixed signals. And you do have a history of manipulating me, my feelings to get your way. I reacted that way…out of self preservation I guess."

Looking up at him, she saw the guarded expression on his face.

"I do trust you, Sherlock. I really do. But this was so sudden and out of the blue. And I have wanted this for such a long time. It seems almost unreal."

Hands still held together, Sherlock got up and went around the table, pulling Molly up as he approached. When he kissed her this time, it was with a desperation, a passion that had been missing last night. They both were a bit breathless when the kiss ended. But he still kept her in his arms.

"I had to tell you now Molly. Before any new problem arose, as it surely will. I had to unburden my heart or I would've gone mad. These last few months have been crazy and I fear some of that craziness will seep into me. I needed the peace and quiet that only you offer. You, Molly Hooper, not your flat. And I understood this, after I was almost sent to the proverbial gallows".


	5. Chapter 5

"Proverbial gallows…what do you mean, gallows?"

"I guess this is what John means when he says that sometimes I am dramatic. Though _he_ rarely uses the word 'sometimes'. I was talking about the exile…the almost exile."

Molly's brows came together as she tried to understand what Sherlock was talking about. He moved impatiently to the living room and sat on the sofa, with his hands folded on his chest.

"Oh c'mon, I am talking about the Magnusson case. That _was_ the best that Mycroft could do. John couldn't believe that it _me_ who was defending my brother. But you cannot get away with murder in front of almost a platoon of the Special Services and then expect just a rap on the wrist!" He huffed out.

Charles Magnussen or CAM as he was called; it was in papers around Christmas, big shot news guy, dead, dodgy practices and what not. She had noticed the furor on TV channels and it had been front page news for quite some time.

"Magnussen. The news tycoon who died on Christmas. You…_you_ were involved in that? But…but they said he died of a heart attack… in front of government officials, during some hearing or something…was he murdered and were you on the case?"

She was a bit confused. It was not the first time that a high profile personality had died under mysterious circumstances and it was covered up as a heart attack.

But Sherlock rarely spoke to her about his clients and this seemed to be a hush-hush type of case.

"Why are you telling me this? You don't generally discuss your cases with me, unless it involves me. Special services, murder, gallows… what are you saying?"

There was one unconceivable possibility of what might have happened to Magnussen but Molly refused to even consider that. Sherlock committing homicide was not possible as he was brilliant enough to get out of tight situations.

Molly looked at him sitting on her sofa, a bit uncomfortable, pursing his lips and looking anywhere but at her. She went and stood in front of him, with her hands folded, frowning.

"Sherlock…did you comm-"

"Yes." There was a fierceness in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Like he dared her to oppose his actions. "And I don't regret it one bit!" he bit out.

She blinked, trying to process this news. Sherlock, a murderer. She took a few moments to let that seep in. She was surprised by how easily she accepted it and got over the shock. And then muddled on

"And this exile_, _this _almost_ exile, that was your sentence? You were being sent away?" Disbelief was written all over her face.

"Molly, even Mrs Hudson and Lestrade knew I was going away, though only John and Mary knew the trip was a punishment, but even they didn't know then that it was a one way ticket. But they all know _now_. Do keep up. Don't tell me _Jim from IT_ distracted you so much that you didn't realise the man you _say_ you are in love with was almost sent away for good!" He lashed out.

Molly just stood there, blank faced, staring at him, desperately trying to make sense of what he had just said and ignoring the jibe about Moriarty.

Moments passed before she next spoke, asking the question that was hammering away inside her head.

"How…how did they know? John and Mary I presume were involved somehow but… Lestrade, Mrs Hudson…how did they know of this? That you were being sent away?"

"Mrs Hudson would've created a ruckus if I were to suddenly disappear. And Greg would try to reach me when he would flounder on his next case. No need to have a Met official sniffing around for details. It's obvious Molly." He rolled his eyes as he made his snarky response.

She suddenly felt like her chest was constricting, like breathing was an extremely difficult task. Shutting her eyes and taking forceful breaths seemed to help.

"And me? What do you think I would do if you were to suddenly disappear Sherlock?"

He jerked his head up at her question, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and got up. He paced towards her window and stood looking out, hands stuffed inside his trouser pockets, his back ramrod straight. His defensive pose.

As he continued to remain silent, Molly turned and moved to her bedroom. She just needed to get away from him.

She regretted collapsing on her bed the moment she laid her head on her pillow because it smelt of him. Her sheets smelt of him. He must've laid here while she was out that morning.

And that did her in. Because she wouldn't even have had this, this small essence of him, if he had gone away. She didn't even remember when she had last met him before Christmas; it was probably one of the few visits he made to Barts. And that would have been her last memory of Sherlock.

As the tears started flowing, she felt hopeless. And then she was angry at her hopelessness. _It was so unfair_. All the time she had known him, all she had done was help him. She had always put him before her and helped him any way he wanted.

And she didn't even merit a goodbye.

If she had any doubts that last night's confession was a lie, she was sure about it now.

Sherlock didn't love her. She was just a means to an end. And that was all she would remain.

As this realization sunk in, as she let this man break her heart for the umpteenth time, loud sobs broke out. She bit on her pillow to muffle their sounds, but she didn't succeed completely.

Even now, her first thought was that Sherlock would feel extremely uncomfortable at this show of emotion. But now she rallied around that thought. At least he would keep away or maybe even leave her flat. Maybe now she would have the solitude to start picking up the pieces of her broken heart, though if she would actually manage to do that was doubtful.

Maybe this was the final straw. Maybe she would be heartbroken for ever now.

There were lots of maybes.

She was so lost in her melancholic thoughts that she didn't hear Sherlock approach her till he was standing next to her, towering over her quivering figure.

"Molly." He hesitated.

She turned away from him and further snuggled her face into the pillow, hoping to drown out his voice. She should've known there would be no reprieve; that he wouldn't even let her have the small dignity of crying in solitude.

She then felt the mattress dip as he lay next to her but was stunned to feel his hands around her as he pulled her easily to his chest as if she were a rag doll. This further infuriated her and she tried to struggle out of his grip, almost shouting at him to let her go. It was extremely difficult to get away while lying in bed but God did she try!

Sherlock continued to hold her, eventually rolling over her and pressing her back against the mattress. She gave up struggling against his superior strength, imagining that he would let her go once she was calm.

But this was Sherlock Holmes, who could read people like books most of the time.

The moment she stopped struggling he grabbed both her hands and held them over her head. Face inches away from hers he said softly, "I am going to release your hands Molly. But don't try to run away as I know you are planning to. We need to talk _now_."

He was serious, his eyes giving nothing away. She briefly nodded, if nothing than to get away from this proximity.

He released her hands and proceeded to sit on the side of her bed with his back to her. She pulled herself up and sat against the headboard, grabbing a pillow to hold for comfort, a feeble defense.

He sighed impatiently as he raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand on ends.

She had stopped crying by now, their physical struggle succeeding in momentarily distracting her. But looking at Sherlock now brought it all back with force and she felt tears pricking her eyes again.

"I don't know how to do this. I'll be damned if I know how to explain myself." He said without any notice, startling her.

She continued looking away from him. She knew all it would take was a glance from him, his unearthly eyes beseeching her to help him and she would cave in.

But not this time. This time Sherlock was on his own.

"I guess I screwed up." He said addressing her floor. "Not telling you I was being sent away was a mistake. And I am sorry."

He turned towards her at this. When he held both of her hands in his large ones, Molly finally looked at him.

And he looked absolutely lost. Like he really had no idea how to do this.

Maybe he really didn't.

But Molly squashed that thought away. His social skills were awful but he had still charmed his way to an engagement with Janine, who seemed to be a nice girl and mainly, a girl wise with the ways of the world.

He could surely try now as he was no fool in handling human emotions.

His expression got a bit defensive, like she just said that out aloud. He probably did know how to read minds.

He pressed his lips together and then opened his mouth to say something, but thought against it.

The man was learning.

Pausing for some time, he spoke hesitantly.

"Mycroft _did_ do the best he could. He guessed, correctly as always, that I would be a pain in the arse for the authorities if jailed and so managed to get me some MI6 assignment in Eastern Europe. The down side being that he calculated I would last for six months at the most."

She gasped at how calmly Sherlock spoke of his punishment. So not only was he going away forever, but the 'forever' was actually only six months. If not for the Moriarty case, he would have been on his death row by now.

"Yes, I knew while going away that it would be a tough and short ride. I…I wanted to meet you, before I was sent away, I really did. But what good would _that_ have done? You would've probably realized something was up… yes! you would have" He interrupted her when she tried to protest.

"You have always been able to read me well Molly. More than you give yourself credit for. I think only Mycroft can do better than you. And my parents. But then Mummy has stopped herself from trying to see what's going on in my head because that worries her and gives her headaches. Father is much more capable that way, poor man is given so less credit for _his_ brilliance by the rest of us that-"

_He_ was blabbering and she had to stop him.

"Sherlock!"

"Hmm?…Yeah…digressing. Happens. Especially when I feel a bit nervous."

Molly continued to simply look at him. It was surprisingly easy not to empathize with him; why hadn't she tried this before!

"Anyways. As I was saying." he pursed his lips and continued to stare at the floor, as if he would get the guidance he needed from her worn carpet.

He began after another pause.

"The last time we met before Christmas was at Barts; you were complaining half heartedly about being forced to go on a blind date set up by your friends. You weren't exactly happy about it but there was a glimmer of hope you could not hide. I knew _I_ wasn't a closed chapter but that didn't stop you from trying to get on with life… But would that have continued if you knew my death knell was already ringing? I doubt it."

He turned to look at her again, this time a resigned expression on his face.

"It would have been our last meeting and I don't think I would have been able to continue with the pretense of indifference towards you, not if I was sure, and I _was_, that I was seeing you for the last time. I am a very selfish man Molly and I _would_ have extracted that last bit of emotion from you. You would have _known…_about the pretense, about the final farewell. You would've read me and it would have finally beaten you. To know that your love was returned, but only in those last moments…I felt it was cruel and for the first time, I didn't want to inflict any cruelty on you."

He turned to stare at the floor again, but with a smirk on his face.

"Funny how it takes impending death for me to be real in front of you. Doesn't speak very well of us, to be honest."

She chuckled inspite of herself. Molly did acknowledge that there was a level of morbidity to her relation with Sherlock, there always had been since the beginning.

Turning serious again, he looked to her with a plea in his eyes.

"I was trying to be kind Molly. I think…I _know_ that you would've been devastated with my disappearance…my death, but you would've parried the heartbreak eventually and moved on..._if_ you were unaware of its planned finality. "

She took a sharp breath as his casual mention of his death but he ignored her and carried on speaking.

"But if you knew I was going away forever, you would've worried incessantly, just waiting for the word of my death to reach you and then you would've probably tried to deal with it by getting into a relationship for all the wrong reasons. I know I sound arrogant, but that's what happened with Tom. And it would've made you more miserable. And I didn't want to put you through that."

He hesitated, got up sighing in frustration and turned to face her.

"I know what I did was wrong but the intention was right. And that's all that mattered to me. _You_ mattered to me, you're well being mattered to me and I didn't want to leave you broken. I could not have functioned properly, knowing my parting gift to you was a life time of misery. And it would have been that."

"Do you understand what I am trying to say? Do I sound sane? Maybe not but…but do you get it? Do you get _me_?"

He was pulling at his hair as he plead with her.

She continued to stare at him, processing what he had just said.

This was Sherlock, at his most stripped form. He had just laid his soul bare to her and was begging for some empathy.

She was mad.

She must've been, for she understood what Sherlock was trying to say. She always knew that he felt emotions and felt them more intensely than anyone else.

And this was proof. In his own convoluted way, he had tried to protect her. It should not have made any sense, but it did to her. He had tried to leave her, close that door as kindly as he could.

It wasn't the best approach but she knew his intentions were good.

She kept the pillow she had a death grip on by the side and slowly got up and approached him.

Sherlock appeared apprehensive of her reaction, but was stunned speechless when she just put her arms around him and pressed her forehead against his chest.

"Oh Sherlock, what am I going do with you!"

Sherlock hesitantly brought his arms up to hold her, resting his chin on her head.

"I am a living example of a masochist. Constantly wading in with a death wish to get hurt." Molly shook her head, still speaking to Sherlock's chest.

"I am doomed, am I not Sherlock?" She finally raised her head to look into his eyes and asked him. "To love you inspite of everything you say and do, instead of _because_ of everything you say and do."

A smug smile grew on his face as he finally relaxed a little, tightening his arms around her.

"Say whatever you want, Molly. You love me _because_ of all the things I do. After all, your type is a murderous, relapsing drug addict with a sociopathic tendency."

"And you better be glad about it, Mr Holmes. There are not many women out there as patient and understanding as I am."

His smile turned soft, his eyes shining with a new light.

"Oh you are wrong Dr Hooper. There are _no_ women out there as patient and understanding, as kind and helpful, as lovely both inside out, as you are. Thank you for being you and for loving me. I know I will mess up things royally. But never doubt that I have your best interests at my heart. A heart, no matter how convoluted, belongs to you and has for a long time. And I will try my best to prove it to you."

The tears that flowed now were happy ones. She could see the honesty in Sherlock's eyes as he held her close and said those words.

She also believed him when he said he would mess up things on a regular basis. But she would be there to guide him to make things right, as she knew he would do eventually. It was going to be an uphill journey for both of them, but they had each other to fall back on.

It was one journey she couldn't wait to begin.


	6. Chapter 6

He was sleeping on the sofa. He had deduced in front of almost half the Met that Lestrade was finally divorcing his wife, not that it was a surprise to _anyone, _though Graham had did get pissed off at him. They were all waiting for it to happen anyways. So he didn't understand why she got annoyed so and made it such a big deal. It wasn't like when he told the junior doctor at Barts that his senior was sleeping with his girlfriend, the nurse. Although he hadn't expected the junior to throw himself at his boss; that had been fun! He smirked at the memory.

But he was brought back to the present when his face hit the sofa's backrest. How was he supposed to get a good night's sleep if he couldn't even lie down properly.

He turned and he huffed and he tried to get comfortable but the sofa was no place to sleep in the summer. So gathering his sheets and his pillow, he tried to enter his bedroom. The door was locked as expected. Smirking, he got his lock pick out and had the lock open in a heartbeat. The door still refused to budge. Then he remembered the carpenter visiting Mrs Hudson's flat.

Damn! Molly had carried out her threat of installing a deadbolt.

"Damn it, woman! I said I was sorry, didn't I? And why the deadbolt? That is my bedroom you know…you can't lock me out of my room."

He heard her huff and get off the bed and approach the door. It was opened with force and she still looked mad at him.

"Try me, Sherlock Holmes. The next deadbolt will be on the main door!"

"But I jus-"

"No! Greg was still trying to make things work and he was heartbroken when she left him again. I know it sounds stupid to you, but he is your _friend_ and you support your friends at times like these, _not_ make a spectacle of them!"

They glared at each other, neither refusing to budge from their point.

Till he did.

Again.

"I am sorry. And I will apologise to Gary too. I would do it right now, but its past 11 and he will be passed out anyways."

"How di-"

"I had one of my homeless network keep an eye on him, don't want a DI to be found lying drunk on the roads, it would be even more embarrassing. I got a text sometime back that he reached home safe."

She just stared at him for some time. Then taking a deep breath, she moved away from blocking the door and gestured for him to enter the bedroom.

He placed a kiss on her temple as he passed her and lay on his side of the bed. He pulled her close, with his arms around her waist and was fast asleep in no time, the last few days being very hectic.

As she lay in bed staring at the window with his steady breaths blowing on her neck, she admitted that he was learning. He did mess up frequently, as expected, but he was learning quickly too.

And she was more in love with him than ever before. And he loved her back. He didn't say it, but he showed her by his actions, like today. He took care of his friends, he did it subtly and wisely.

Sherlock was still the same, rude, insulting, brilliant, and gorgeous. But he was trying to be better for her, and she couldn't ask for anything else.


End file.
